


Say My Name

by haruhiko (iacobus)



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Gay As a Tennis Player, Gay For You, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexuality, Sports, Swedes, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iacobus/pseuds/haruhiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can a relationship as player and coach survive the fallout after sex? How does trust and communication get built and dismantled in a relationship between two people who travel all over the world, who don’t see each other on a regular basis—a relationship that will always be defined by its attenuated, public nature, as well as the extreme emotional highs and lows of their work together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say My Name

**Author's Note:**

> _1\. It's too difficult to list the all the music I was listening to while writing a piece as long as this, but nearly all of the final editing was done while listening to Joanna Newsom's triple album,_ Have One on Me _._
> 
> _2\. This is the first fic where I made a major effort to mirror/expand on real-life events/dates of significance in tennis, initially out of a desire to write something “realistic.” However, that desire quickly morphed into a desire to see how I could work creatively within or around the constraints that being somewhat faithful to real-life events inevitably puts on a fic. That’s what made writing this fic fun, though I don’t think I’ll be doing something like this again for awhile as the research was so time-consuming._
> 
> _3\. Thanks to Sar and Katie. :) Your gentle poking and prodding helped me to finish (that's what she said). ;)_
> 
> _Enjoy!_
> 
> \- - - - - - - - - -

**_Paris, June 2015_ **

It wasn’t “Du gamla, Du fria,” but it didn’t matter: when the Swiss anthem started, he closed his eyes. Even the flood of memories from six years ago, when Robin had lost and he’d heard the same melody play for Roger, was only sweetening the experience with its surreal honey.

When Stan turned to him during his speech and spoke his name, and cracks started to show in the man’s voice as he said softly in French that this title was for him, Magnus was grateful that he had his sunglasses on. He tilted his head, blinking back the sudden moisture as he looked into the pale blue of the sky and exhaled.

\- - - - -

**_New York City, September 2013_ **

Magnus walked swiftly to the lockerroom, feeling a bit concerned by the realization that he wasn’t sure how to approach his charge today. They’d been working together for a few months and the initial awkwardness of learning each other’s personalities, rhythms, senses of humor, and preferences had vanished within the first few days—Stan had seen to that. But this was new ground for him. Losing your first slam semifinal, and being so close? He’d been there for Robin when Robin had lost his two big finals, but Stan was a very different person.

Still, well, he’d have to try. He made his way into the lockerroom, quietly thankful that it was nearly empty now that the Open was almost over.

He walked past row after row of lockers, past where a shirtless Novak Djokovic was clasping hands with a relieved and happy team of men talking at him in a rapid-fire mix of Serbian, English, and Italian, rounded a corner, and finally stopped at the last bank of lockers.

“Stan?”

The Swiss didn’t respond, his eyes firmly fixed on the inside of his locker. He was calmly, angrily, emptying out the contents into a large duffel bag.

“Stan, you did great, I’m proud of you.” He reached out and patted Stan on the shoulder, suddenly feeling supremely awkward and stupid.

Apart from a slight nod and a brief raising of the eyebrows, Stan didn’t acknowledge that anyone had spoken to him. He turned his back to Magnus a bit and pulled off his wet shirt with such alacrity that a few drops of his sweat landed on Magnus’s face. Magnus ignored it, putting his hand on Stan’s now-bare shoulder as he flung the shirt into his bag.

“Stan?” But the man had dropped a clutch of socks and wristbands on the floor and pulled away, cursing softly as he bent over to pick them up. Magnus blinked as he realized he was looking at Stan’s ass. It wasn’t until Stan had straightened up and turned back to his locker that he continued.

“Look, I get how you’re feeling right now. You know that. So if you want to talk to me later, I’ll wait outside. Go on and take your—”

Without warning Stan turned to Magnus and hugged him hard, burying his face into into the hollow of his coach’s neck. The smell of Stan’s sweat, hair, and sunscreen filled Magnus’s nose as he hugged back, patting Stan on the back. He could feel Stan shake violently in his effort to not to make noise as he cried—indeed, he was trying not to cry at all, but Magnus felt the hot tears fall on his neck, and felt more than heard Stan whisper the words “sorry” and “let you down” as he shook.

He rubbed Stan’s back gently and without thinking started whispering, babbling into his ear, like he would do with his girls when they were upset. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You were great. It’s okay. You don’t need to be sorry for anything, you were great. I’m so proud of you.” And just like he would have done for his girls, he kissed Stan on the cheek over and over as he whispered, trying to soothe him.

It wasn’t ’til Stan stopped shaking and looked up to stare at him with a confused, vulnerable look in his wet eyes that Magnus realized what he’d been doing. He cleared his throat and chuckled embarrassedly. “Sorry, my daddy training must have kicked in.”

Stan pulled away and rolled his eyes, wiping them dry. “I’m not a child, you know.” He sniffed and wiped his nose as well.

“Could have fooled me. Ow!” Magnus said as Stan punched him on the arm, lightly. “Like I was saying, go on and take your shower, do your ice bath and all that. I’ll be waiting here with Stephane.”

Stan made a whiny noise as he grabbed a towel and walked off to the showers. Magnus was still too embarrassed to do more than pull his phone out of his pocket and scroll through his missed messages as Stan walked away. Had he looked up he would have seen Stan turning back more than once to stare at him curiously.

\- - - - -

**_Paris, October 2013_ **

“What are you doing? Are you taping me with your phone?”

“Don’t pay attention to me. Keep working on your serve. I’m gonna take a picture of you and tweet it.”

Stan laughed. “The old man is gonna tweet something?” he teased, booming a serve out wide.

“Hey. I’m not much older than you.” Magnus paused to snap a photo as Stan slammed down another serve.

“Do you know how to tweet a photo? Should I help you?”

“You keep talking like that and I’ll make you do some pressups.”

Stan hit one last serve and walked over to Magnus, grinning. “So sorry, boss,” he said, bending over in an ostentatious bow.

Magnus tugged on Stan’s ear, pulling him back up. “Damn right you’re sorry. Keep serving.”

Stan rolled his eyes as he walked back to the baseline, still smiling.

\- - - - -

**_London, November 2013_ **

“Herregud,” Magnus muttered, grabbing Stan’s arm as a bit of wind jostled them about.

“Ha, you’re scared!” Stan crowed, looking at his coach fondly.

“Maybe a little,” Magnus admitted, dropping Stan’s arm. “Still, the view from up here is amazing.” He looked out over the buildings glowing with light, the glossy blackness of the Thames, the sky dark and moonless.

“And now you can say you did the London Eye. Good job.” Stan reached out and patted Magnus on the face in mock praise, eliciting a rude noise from the Swede as he batted the hand away.

\- - - - -

**_Melbourne, January 2014_ **

Well this is different, Magnus thought, walking quickly to the lockerroom and trying to seem calm. He was going to be the last one to get to Stan, as players, journalists, and tournament staff who recognized him kept stopping him to congratulate him while Stephane, Lawrence, and others were hurrying along unimpeded.

But it didn’t matter. This was huge. This was a slam title.

Something deep and knotted unraveled in Magnus’s chest as he opened the door to the lockerroom, and it felt nice.

When Magnus got there Stan was already surrounded by a small group of people hugging him, laughing, and talking. But when he saw his coach his smile widened, and there was a fierce light in his eyes that made Magnus feel almost sick with pleasure. They crashed together in a powerful embrace as the people around them clapped.

There’d be no crying today. But as they pulled out of the short hug to smile at each other and pat each other on the back, Magnus smelled Stan’s hair, his skin, his sweat, and memories of New York welled up abruptly: the feel of the head on his shoulder, the body shaking in his arms. From the way Stan was looking at him he wondered if Stan remembered as well, but then someone he didn’t recognize came in for their hug and the moment was gone, quickly forgotten under yet another wave of well-wishers.

_**_

After Stan’s media commitments were finally over, they’d found bottles of champagne and some late-night snacks and celebrated with a small circle of folks: Stephane, Lawrence, and those of Stan’s family who were able to make it to Melbourne. Eventually Stephane and Stan’s relatives all went off to their respective hotel rooms, but Lawrence and Magnus followed Stan up to his room to talk business before they all parted ways tomorrow.

But after Lawrence had finished going over Stan’s upcoming sponsor meetings, the man quickly mired Stan in a discussion over what clothes he should wear at the trophy photoshoot the next morning, and Magnus sat back on Stan’s bed and began flipping channels on the hotel TV.

“You should have brought more clothes,” Lawrence was saying. “I can go out and buy something early tomorrow.”

“Nooooo,” Stan shot back, imbuing the syllable with multiple layers of feeling.

“Okay, fine. Wear this shirt, see? Nice skull design on the back. Trendy.”

“Who cares?” Stan said, rolling his eyes. He paused. “Magnus, what do you think?”

Magnus shrugged, not even glancing away from the TV. The conversation was THAT boring.

Lawrence pressed on. “This shirt, and wear those jeans. Women want to see that ass. And not just women,” he said, cackling loudly and slapping Stan’s rear.

Stan grinned, but his expression faltered a bit as he looked over at Magnus again. “Okay, I’ll wear these.”

“Someone from Subaru’s gonna call you tomorrow afternoon. Make sure you answer it. I’ll let you know on SMS when they’re about to call.”

“Okay, okay. Are we done now? I need to talk to Magnus about our schedule after I’m done in Serbia. He’s been waiting.”

“No problem,” Lawrence said, lifting his hands. He gave Stan a final hug. “Great job, man. I’ll talk to you more tomorrow. Make sure you look at your SMS. See you Magnus!” he said, throwing the coach a quick salute as he headed toward the door. Magnus waved back.

As soon as the door shut Stan sighed and joined Magnus on the bed, sitting next to him and looking at the TV. “Now, Magnus. Talk. Why are you making that face?”

Magnus was grinning. “My name. It always sounds funny in your accent.”

Stan snorted, looking away.

“Anyway, after Serbia—” Magnus started to say, but Stan was shaking his head. “Isn’t there something else we should talk about first?” He kept his eyes on Magnus and moved closer and closer, finally sitting so close to the Swede their bodies were touching from shoulder to knee.

“What are you doing?” Magnus said sharply. His brain was telling him to move away, but he couldn’t.

Stan looked a little stung by the question and looked down, suddenly shy. He put an arm around Magnus and laid his head on the man’s chest.

“I’m just glad I have a chance to celebrate with you, alone,” he said quietly. “This win’s for you too, you know.”

Magnus put down the TV remote, feeling awkward as he patted the Swiss on the back. “I know. I’m glad too. You did great. I was blown away by how you played today. I can’t tell you how great this day has been. Thank you.”

Stan looked up sharply, all shyness gone. He inhaled and kissed Magnus hard, taking advantage of the man’s confusion to stick his tongue in his coach’s mouth.

Magnus’s initial grunt of surprise gave way to soft noises of pleasure as Stan took control of his mouth, but he came to his senses quickly and pulled away, pushing Stan off him.

“Stop that. Are you drunk? You must still be a little drunk,” he said, laughing nervously.

Stan didn’t answer. He looked disappointed but pleased at the same time, a look which Magnus couldn’t quite understand until he realized Stan was staring at the bulge that had started in his sweatpants.

Magnus sighed and shifted himself to block Stan’s view. “Look, I don’t know what this is about, but I’m gonna go back to my room. We can talk some other time.”

“No, please stay! I just thought... I’m sorry.”

On top of the confusion he was feeling, the mournful look on Stan’s face was almost too much for Magnus to take. “Look, it’s okay. You’re still a bit drunk.”

“I’m not,” Stan muttered.

Magnus laughed awkwardly. “Well in any case. Let’s just watch some TV. You’re right, we haven’t had a chance to just sit and hang out in weeks.” Stan nodded slowly, and they both turned their attention back to the screen.

The TV was tuned to some late-night talk show. Neither of them were able to catch all of the Australian references, but enough of the humor translated that both of them were laughing often enough to avoid being stuck in an uncomfortable silence.

It was after some joke about the Prime Minister and refugees that neither of them understood that they turned to each other in confusion, making eye contact.

“You know, I could hold you again if you want. That felt nice.”

It was the surprised look on Stan’s face that made Magnus realize what he had just said. He felt, for the first time in ages, a strong blush flooding his cheeks.

Stan didn’t bother to waste time teasing him or giving him an opportunity to change his mind. He moved up close to Magnus again and put an arm and a leg over his coach’s body, sighing deeply when the older man put his arms around him.

They continued to watch TV like that, Magnus trying to ignore the fact that Stan’s boner was pressing into his hip. His last thought when he heard Stan begin to snore and felt sleep suddenly creeping up on him as well was that he really needed to talk to Stan about this, whatever this was.

_**_

When he awoke what seemed like just minutes later, the room was dark and quiet and he could feel pleasure coursing through his body.

Someone had lifted up his shirt and was kissing his chest, his tummy, licking his nipples, tasting his body. A hand was inside his underwear, stroking his dick gently, then firmly.

“Ahh, Stan—” Magnus gasped as he felt his charge pull his shirt up and begin sucking on one of his nipples. He lifted his arms wordlessly, letting Stan tug the shirt all the way off before he removed his own and laid down on top of Magnus. Magnus hardly had time to gasp again at the feel of skin against skin, the feel of Stan’s tight tummy against his own, before Stan’s mouth landed on his, and this time he opened his mouth eagerly, rubbing his tongue against Stan’s, moaning as he felt Stan grind their erections against each—

And then he really awoke.

It took a second for Magnus to orient himself. Just like in his dream the room was dark apart from some street lighting coming in through a window, but there was no one pleasuring him, his clothes were on, and Stan was nowhere to be seen. And the dream had left him horny as hell.

Magnus groaned, pulling his sweatpants and underwear down in one quick motion, and he began jacking off quickly. Whatever this was, he needed to get it out of his system. He closed his eyes and leaned into his memories of the dream, sighing as he felt himself get closer and closer, and trying to ignore his embarrassment over who and what he was thinking about as he was getting off.

“Need help with that?”

Magnus jolted upright, swearing under his breath; only the absolute silence throughout the hotel had stopped him from yelling out.

Stan was sitting up on the floor, watching him. He was wrapped in a blanket, his eyes bright with the scant light coming in from outside.

“What are you doing down there?” Magnus snapped, quickly pulling up his pants.

Stan got up onto the bed, leaving the blanket behind as he laid down next to Magnus. Magnus swallowed nervously as he realized Stan was only wearing a pair of bright blue briefs which were struggling valiantly to contain a sizable erection.

“Why did you stop?” Stan murmured as he snuggled up against his coach’s side, his voice low and soft and urgent. “Finish what you started. I want you to.”

Magnus laid still and looked at the younger man, feeling the blood still thrumming through his loins, feeling Stan’s breath on his face, unsure of himself in a way he hadn’t felt in ages. “Stan, I—”

“I was on the floor because sleeping next to you was too much temptation. And I was too horny to sleep.” He smirked, dropping his eyes towards Magnus’s crotch. “Guess I’m not the only one.” He put a hand on the bulge in Magnus’s pants and began massaging.

“Stan—” Magnus said, but even to his own ears the warning sounded disingenuous.

“Let me make you feel good,” Stan whispered, growing bolder as he saw and felt Magnus responding to his touch. He leaned in, kissing Magnus on the ear, on the cheek, over and over. “Like you always do for me.”

Stan slowly, deliberately brought his mouth to Magnus’s neck and began kissing, at first softly, gently, but then with greater insistence, licking and sucking Magnus’s skin until he was breathing hard and his erection was straining to get out.

Up until this point Magnus had his eyes open, watching Stan’s actions, but when Stan firmly yanked his pants back down he shut them quickly, suddenly embarrassed, making Stan chuckle.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he said, grabbing Magnus’s throbbing erection and playing with it. “And wet,” he smirked, running his thumb over the slick stuff running down the tip of Magnus’s cock.

“Shut up,” Magnus gasped, reopening his eyes. He raised himself up slightly to pull his shirt off and kicked off his pants completely. “Either do it properly or I can do it myself.”

He was pleased to see Stan drop the smug expression and begin jacking him off in earnest, and he was so horny at this point that once Stan started licking his chest and kissing his stomach it wasn’t long before he began moaning softly, almost in warning.

“I... I think I’m close.”

Stan quickly moved to the foot of the bed and spread Magnus’s legs, and before the man knew what was happening he felt the warmth and wetness of Stan’s mouth around his cock, Stan’s tongue rubbing against his shaft insistently, Stan’s nose pressing into his crotch as his entire length was enveloped in the man’s mouth, in and out, and he groaned, his hips starting to pitch back and forth. In nearly no time at all he was grunting hard, his stomach tightening down on a powerful orgasm as he shot into Stan’s mouth over and over, the man making noises of surprise and pleasure as his mouth caught the flow.

Magnus threw his head back against the pillow in defeat and lay there with his eyes closed, panting slightly as Stan moved back up to him. Stan kissed him and he opened his eyes, grimacing at the taste of his own jizz.

“Did you seriously... You swallowed it all?”

Stan grinned, his eyes twinkling briefly before they clouded over with lust again. He stared at Magnus, a question hanging in his eyes as he stroked the Swede’s face, kissing him softly.

Magnus cleared his throat nervously. “Look, I appreciate you doing... that, but I dunno if I’m comfortable doing it too.”

“That’s okay,” Stan said, putting a hand down his briefs. “You made me so horny it won’t take much at this point, trust me.” He continued to look at Magnus as he touched himself, biting his lower lip in hunger.

Magnus suddenly felt shy. “Should... Can I do something?”

Stan moved closer, pulling his underwear down and kicking them off. “Hold me. And kiss me.” He closed his eyes, jacking himself off in earnest.

Magnus obliged, a bit relieved he wasn’t asked to do more. He held Stan’s face and kissed him, gently, on the face at first, then on the lips tentatively, then more boldly as the taste of Stan’s mouth and the trusting, needy look in his charge’s eyes began turning Magnus back on again. He held Stan tight and kissed him hard, opening the willing mouth with his tongue, moving down to kiss Stan’s neck, down further to take Stan’s hard nipples into his mouth, whatever he could to get Stan moaning. The more he heard Stan’s sounds of pleasure, the more he forgot to feel uncomfortable about what the two of them were doing, and then Stan moaned even louder.

“I’m gonna—”

And Magnus kissed him hard, practically drinking in Stan’s grunts of pleasure as the man came. He felt the hot liquid land on his arm, his chest, and did his best to not pay it any mind.

As their kisses tailed off, Stan opened his eyes and looked at Magnus. For the first time that night, he was the one who looked shy.

“I’ll get a towel,” he said, breaking the silence as he bounded off the bed to the bathroom. Magnus tried not to look at Stan’s well-muscled ass as he walked off.

After Stan got back and wiped the two of them as clean he could, Magnus got up and started putting his clothes back on. Stan frowned.

“You’re not gonna stay?”

Magnus blinked, realizing that the idea of going back to his room hadn’t occurred to him. “Just getting dressed again. I can sleep here,” he offered, smiling tentatively.

“We don’t have to get dressed for that.”

Magnus snorted. “Yes we do. If we don’t you’re gonna try for another round while I’m sleeping.”

Stan grinned at that, looking relieved that Magnus was able to joke around, and he found his briefs and a t-shirt, putting them on. Magnus laid back down, stretching and yawning as Stan eagerly snuggled up next to him.

Stan ran a hand back and forth over Magnus’s tummy. “Don’t you think we should talk? About this.”

Magnus grabbed the hand when it got too close to his waistband. “Tomorrow. It can wait.”

Stan nodded, suddenly yawning in reply. He laid his head down and the two of them were asleep and snoring gently in a matter of minutes.

\- - - - -

**_Stockholm, February 2014_ **

He sat in the café trying to focus on the fantastic coffee and the newspaper in front of him, but all he could hear was his own mind calling him an idiot. Din idiot, din jävel, din jävla idiot. He sipped loudly at his coffee, trying to clear his head.

The morning after in Melbourne, hours before Stan had to go do his trophy photoshoot, he’d woken up and quietly crept out of Stan’s room back to his, hoping Stan wouldn’t wake up until later.

But sure enough, roughly fifteen minutes later Stan sent him an SMS.

_Where are you? :(_

_Sorry, had to finish packing before my flight. My room is a mess right now. And I need to grab a couple souvenirs for the girls._

They both knew it was a lie. Magnus always kept his room orderly, never fully unpacking, and he’d already gone shopping for the family the week before.

_I thought we were going to talk._

_We will, later. Let’s talk after you’re done in Serbia. Have fun with Roger and Seve and the other guys. I’ll be cheering you on from back home :)_

It wasn’t until hours later, long after his photoshoot had to have been finished, that Stan sent back: _Okay._

And since then, nothing. Magnus had watched the Davis Cup tie from afar, feeling something very much like jealousy when he saw Roger and Marco Chiudinelli and Michael Lammer showering hugs on Stan after his win on the first day, and becoming a bit sick in the stomach when he realized what the feeling was.

On the second day when Marco and Michi sealed the tie against Serbia with their doubles win, Magnus was watching on his laptop. He immediately texted Stan.

 _Congratulations!!! Swiss power!!_ He’d even added a couple “thumbs up” emoji at the end.

That was exactly a week ago. Stan hadn’t yet responded.

Magnus sighed and put his knit cap back on. He drained the last of his coffee from the large mug, placed it on the counter, and stepped back out into the bitter cold, heading down to Söder Mälarstrand where he’d do some stretches and resume his morning run.

_**_

Finally, ten days before Indian Wells, Stan wrote: _See you soon._ It was all he could do not to sob with relief.

\- - - - -

**_Indian Wells, March 2014_ **

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? I just said you should go back to your room. It’s getting late.”

“But I thought I could, you know. Sleep here.”

“Stan.” Magnus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You have a match tomorrow.”

Stan raised his right eyebrow higher. “And?”

“And we’re not... doing that again. We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

Stan crossed his arms. “Don’t make assumptions. I just want to sleep with you.” He flushed when Magnus raised an eyebrow of his own. “Not like that, come on. I’m serious. I just want to be next to you.”

Magnus blinked, then looked down. “Go to your room.”

There was a long pause, one that seemed to chill the room the longer it lasted. Stan walked out calmly, making a point of shutting the door quietly, but it didn’t matter: the soft click as it closed made Magnus flinch, like someone about to be punched.

The next day Stan was smiling all throughout breakfast, then morning practice, then lunch, and then afternoon practice. He made no mention of the night before. The only indication to Magnus that anything had happened last night was that Stan seemed to be especially flirty with Roger during their afternoon practice, particularly when he saw Magnus looking over at them. Magnus tried to calm himself down, trying to convince himself he was only projecting, only imagining things, but after a particularly prolonged bout of giggly horseplay between the two Swiss he realized that his free hand, the one that wasn’t holding a racquet, was balled into a fist.

_**_

Two nights later, Stan was in his room again.

“Are we ever going to talk or not?”

“I want to talk, I do. I just, I don’t know what to say. I still don’t know what to think yet.”

“What’s there to think about?”

“I’m not... I’m not into men.”

“Well. You must be a great actor.”

“Come on. Just give me time to work this out.”

“And until you do you can’t even let me fall asleep next to you?”

“That was a one time thing. We’re not doing it again. And I don’t mean just the sleeping.”

“Now you’re being stupid.”

“I mean it, let me work this out. We’re lucky you and I are still working fine together. As coach and player. Let’s keep it that way.”

Stan sighed. “I don’t think I want to sleep here anyway. I’m going to back to my room. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Magnus wasn’t able to fall asleep ’til well past 3am that night. He felt like death warmed over at the next morning’s practice, and Stan’s overly solicitous and positive mood, as if the night before had never happened, only made him feel worse. He wondered briefly if Stan was doing it on purpose, but then Stan shot him a concerned look while they were both doing some stretches and he smiled ruefully in acknowledgment. Stan had looked away quickly, but something deep and knotted had unraveled in Magnus’s chest when he noticed that Stan was smiling too.

\- - - - -

**_Stockholm, April 2014_ **

_Wowww congratulations. Winning a Masters and I’m not even there! I really am the best coach :D_

_maybe it means I don’t need you anymore hahahhaahah_

_............_

_I’m kidding, you know that ;)_

_I know. I need to tell you something._

_what?_

_I miss you:)_

_I miss you too. I can’t wait for you to come to Lausanne._

\- - - - -

**_Paris, May 2014_ **

“Where are you going?” Magnus said as he flopped onto his bed unceremoniously.

“Back to my room. It’s late.”

“Don’t. Stay. Sleep with me. But just sleep. That’s it.”

There was a pause. “You just spent all this time with me lately and you never offered once. You even kept saying no when I asked you in Lausanne. You don’t need to take pity on me tonight just because I lost. This isn’t the first time I’ve lost in the first round of a slam. And it for sure won’t be the last,” Stan said bitterly.

“I’m not taking pity on you. Remember what I said to you after Monte-Carlo? I miss you. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask until now.”

There was no response.

“Seriously, come here.”

After a moment of two of silence, Stan sighed a happy, resigned sigh and laid down next to Magnus, eagerly embracing the man.

About five minutes later: “Hey. Stop it. And get that hand off my ass.”

Stan sighed again, this time out of frustration. “I don’t know what’s worse, not getting to lie with you like this or lying here with you while we ignore your hard Swedish cock trying to poke a hole in my leg.”

“Ssshhh.”

“Tell me, how am I supposed to sleep like this?”

“Good night, Stan.”

\- - - - -

**_London, June 2014_ **

There was something about going up and down the Sainsbury’s aisles with Stan, bickering over what to buy, helping him put away the groceries, and watching Stan potter about the kitchen of their rented house that made Magnus wish they could rent houses at every tournament. It was a lot more relaxing.

He walked over to the stove and sniffed. “You know, in Italy they cook the pasta in the sauce at the end. You don’t cook them separate like this and just spoon the sauce on top.”

“Ssshh. Go away.” Stan said, his attention on his cutting board.

“What is that, courgette? Blegh.”

Stan looked up, his eyebrow raised extra high. “I have a knife.”

Magnus grinned and raised his hands, stepping back.

Not ten minutes later, Stan called him back over to the stove.

“Try this,” he said, stabbing a few pieces of penne with a fork and swirling them in the pan of bubbling red sauce. He blew on the pasta a few times to cool it down and brought it up to Magnus’s mouth, feeding the bemused man.

“Mmmff. Good,” Magnus said, chewing happily.

“You’ve got some sauce—here,” Stan said, hesitating a beat before reaching up and wiping the corners of the his coach’s mouth with a couple of fingers. He licked his fingers clean, making eye contact with Magnus pointedly.

Magnus didn’t realize he’d stopped chewing and was holding his breath until he felt a powerful blush creeping into his cheeks. He hastily swallowed and cleared his throat, looking at the floor shyly.

Stan kept staring at him but Magnus couldn’t bring himself to look up. The Swiss finally sighed and kissed him quick on the lips, but then turned away, his expression blank. “Let’s eat.”

_**_

Everything had been fine when they started packing up their things and giving the house a final once-over to make sure they’d cleaned everything up and put everything away. But as he was tidying up the room he’d been using during their stay, Magnus was hit by an overwhelming wave of something that felt like sadness—no, it was more like grief—and he sat down heavily on the bed as it washed over him.

Why was he upset? What was there to be upset about? It had been a great month, with lots of good practices, happy banter, lovely breakfasts and dinners at home thanks to Stan, Stan’s first Wimbledon quarterfinal. Their time in London had exceeded both their expectations.

And yet, and yet. Stan hadn’t come to him once. Every night in their rented house Magnus had expected Stan to knock on his door and ask to come in to talk, the way he often did when they were staying in hotels. Or to sleep. Particularly after Stan had kissed him that one evening before dinner, he’d lain awake in bed that night, waiting for the knock, half-hoping there wouldn’t be one, feeling nervous, horny, ashamed, afraid.

But even though he couldn’t get to sleep ’til after 1am no one showed up, nothing happened.

A week later he started sleeping with his bedroom door open, but Stan never came out of his room, his door always closed.

Finally, a week after that, while they were on the couch watching TV on one of the warmer nights, Magnus got up, took his shirt off, and said, “It’s hot, I’m gonna lie in bed with the fan on.” He’d felt Stan’s eyes on his back as he walked off.

But then he’d stretched out on his bed for a good hour, the ceiling fan chilling his skin, feeling cheap and stupid as the footsteps never materialized. When finally he heard Stan’s bedroom door quietly close, he’d turned the fan off, put his shirt back on, and curled up into a ball, willing himself to sleep, trying to ignore the voice telling him he was a pathetic, dirty old man.

That was just a few nights ago. Now, as they finished packing and cleaning, the low-level background hum that he’d been able to keep at bay over the past few weeks poured over him in one cumulative flood, and he was nauseated by the force of it. He briefly considered crawling back into the bed he had just made.

“Magnus?” Stan called. “My taxi’s here.”

He bolted to his feet and almost ran down the stairs, silently cursing. “Wait, Stan! Do you have everything?”

“Yeah,” Stan said, surveying the house absently as he picked up a huge duffel bag. He already had his racquet bag on his back. “The driver already took the rest of my bags. Your taxi should be here in a few hours.” They were flying off back to their respective homes, back to Lausanne and Stockholm to see their families, and Stan’s flight was leaving much earlier.

“Stan, wait.” Magnus grabbed Stan’s arm. “We need to talk.”

“What, now? I have a flight to catch.”

“I know but I... I can’t—”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t just let you go like this. I need to talk to you.”

Stan pursed his lips and pulled his arm away. “Oh now you’re ready, so I need to cancel my flight? Now you want to do this and I need to drop everything?”

“Stan, please. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Stan shook his head. “Look, there’s nothing to talk about anyway, right? You said it was a one time thing. I got it. I understand.”

Magnus stood there, unable to close his mouth but unable to form words with it either.

“Anyway,” Stan said, “these bags are heavy. I should get going. I’ll see you in Toronto.” He gave Magnus a look more of pity than anger and kissed him on the cheek quickly, avoiding eye contact. “Say hello to your girls for me,” he said in a subdued tone as he lumbered out the door.

Magnus stood there for a long time, unable to move as he listened to the car drive off. Finally he started looking around frantically, like he’d misplaced something, like he was going crazy. He felt himself beginning to breathe quickly and forced himself to calm down, breathing deeply and slowly, in and out, in, out.

In, out. He looked around, looking at the well-appointed house he was in. In, out. With Stan there it had been a real home, cozy, inviting, a joy to be in. In, out.

But now that he was standing there by himself, all his things packed away, surrounded by silence, he felt like he was drowning in a beautifully upholstered coffin.

In, out.

\- - - - -

**_London, November 2014_ **

He watched from a distance, leaning against the door with Severin Lüthi to keep anyone from coming in as Roger and Stan spoke to each other angrily, their voices in the gym alternating between furious whispers and the occasional shout. Their anger manifested differently, Roger with his brows knitted together and his eyes wide and piercing, leaning in and stabbing a finger into the palm of his other hand as he talked, and Stan with his lips pursed in dissatisfaction, hands on hips, eyes narrowed and back extra straight.

During their match earlier Stan had turned toward Mirka and something had happened, words were exchanged. Magnus hadn’t properly heard what was said, but Seve whispered the details to him as they stood guard at the door.

“Just what these two need before the final next week,” Seve murmured as he finished. Magnus nodded, pretending to check his phone as they waited for the pair to finish talking.

To his surprise, after just a few minutes their voices abruptly turned softer, more relaxed. He looked up and saw the two actually grinning sheepishly at each other as they talked. At one point Roger laughed his musical laugh and reached out to pat Stan on the face, and then Stan reached up and did the same to Roger but with both hands, and Magnus looked away as he felt a hot, acid cloud of jealousy bloom in his chest.

And just like that, their talk was over, they hugged, there were pats on the back, and Seve sighed, moving away from the door. “Bist du fertig?”

“You don’t have to sound like that, Seve,” Roger said as he walked towards them, his smile teasing. He clasped hands with Magnus in greeting.

“You’re both children,” Seve muttered, without any rancor. “Come on, we got to see to your back. See you next week, Stan.”

Stan nodded as he joined them. “Roger, you’ll be okay for next week, right?” he said worriedly. Now that the argument was over his eyes looked concerned, even mournful as he looked at the older Swiss and put a hand on the small of his back. Magnus felt the heat burning in his throat again and clamped down on it as hard as he could.

Roger waved off Stan’s concerns. “Ahh, don’t worry about it. You just get to Lille and I’ll be there soon.”

The four of them left the gym in unison, Seve and Magnus leading to form a barrier of sorts between their players and any prying eyes, and they walked down the hall to their private lockerrooms—one of the perks of playing the year-end finals. Stan’s lockerroom was one of the first ones while Roger’s was further down the hall, so they said their goodbyes in front of Stan’s door, Stan hugging Seve fiercely and Roger gingerly because of his back, Magnus exchanging handclasps and pats on the shoulder with them both.

Stan sighed as they walked into his quarters and the door shut behind them. “I suppose Seve told you what happened? You looked so confused when we were walking to the gym.”

Magnus was nodding. “Yeah, he told me. So everything’s really okay between you guys now?”

“Yes.” Stan opened a big duffel bag and began hunting for fresh clothes. “All we needed was to talk and work it out. Couple minutes, no big deal.”

There was a pause before Magnus spoke. “And when do we get to talk?”

Stan looked up from his bag with a guarded expression. “Later? Now I have Lille to worry about. In less than a week. And I don’t think our talk is going to take just a couple minutes.”

“Stan, I asked to talk to you while we were in Toronto. You said no. And after that I didn’t want to bother you until the US Open was over so I didn’t say anything.” He walked over to Stan. “And after that I didn’t want to say anything until we were done for the year. But... please.” He hesitated, then put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Please, let’s talk.”

Stan turned his head away and shrugged Magnus’s hand off his shoulder, not unkindly. “Talk about what?” His voice was soft.

“About your feelings for me?”

“What makes you think I have feelings for you?”

“Fine. Then let’s talk about my feelings for you,” Magnus snapped, feeling stung.

Stan turned back to the Swede, surprised. “And what exactly do you feel about me?” he ventured, studying the man’s face.

“I— I don’t know,” Magnus stammered, rushing to get the words out as he saw disappointment filling Stan’s eyes, “but the point is I can’t sort this out until we talk. I know I made you wait, and I’m sorry, but you’ve made me wait now too. It’s been months. How much more time are we gonna waste? Haven’t we both waited long enough? There’re times I wonder if I’ve gone crazy and that night in Australia didn’t even happen. Don’t you? Stop doing this to me.”

Stan stared, studying Magnus’s face. Slowly he lifted a hand, touching the man on the cheek.

Magnus closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from leaning into Stan’s touch, and so the soft kiss on his lips took him by surprise. His eyes flew back open.

“Please wait just a little longer, after Lille,” Stan whispered. “Then I’ll talk to you. Okay?” He kissed Magnus again, gently, once, twice.

There was no way Magnus could say no to that. He nodded in defeat.

Suddenly Stan’s eyes turned mischievous, and he backed away from Magnus, pulling off his shirt as he did so. “Can you wait for me outside? I’m gonna shower now.”

Magnus stared at Stan’s bare torso, unable to move, but when the Swiss grinned and started pulling down his shorts, he sputtered a loud “fan ta dig” and beat a hasty retreat for the door.

\- - - - -

**_Lille, November 2014_ **

He’d just slid his keycard into the lock and was opening the door to his room when the four appeared suddenly down the hallway, bursting out of an elevator and giggling at each other as they stumbled towards him. They were drunk and trying to keep quiet, which only intensified their laughter.

He tried to slip into his room unnoticed but then Marco shouted, “Hey, Magnus! Superstar coach!” Roger and Michi cheered drunkenly before collapsing into another fit of giddy cackling. He waved at them in response.

“Come join us for a drink,” Stan called out, taking off the paper mask of Roger’s face that was hanging from his neck and handing it to Michi, who placed it around his neck as a companion to the one already there. “We’re going to Roger’s suite, there’s drinks and food. Roger ordered a whole cliche, there’s gonna be fondue and rösti and everything.”

“I’m beat you guys,” Magnus called back, smiling. “You have fun, I’m going to bed. Stan, call me or SMS tomorrow when you get up, we need to talk about your off-season training.”

He’d barely shut the door when a loud, persistent knocking began. Magnus sighed and reopened it, staring exasperatedly as Stan pushed his way into the room.

“Why won’t you hang out with us? Stephane and Seve are gonna be there too. Is everything okay?” Stan said, rubbing his face blearily as he sat down on the foot of Magnus’s bed.

“Of course it is, why? I wasn’t lying when I said I’m tired.”

Stan glanced at his coach. “I’ve been ignoring you since you got here. I don’t want you to feel left out.”

Magnus smiled. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. Besides,” sitting next to Stan, “this is your moment, with your teammates, with Seve and Stephane. It was relaxing to be completely on the sidelines for this one. This one’s not about me.”

“Bullshit,” Stan snorted. “You think the way I played the last two days has nothing to do with you? I almost made the final in London last week because of you. We won today ‘cause of you too. I know it and the rest of the guys all know it too.”

Magnus ducked his head, feeling embarrassed and thrilled all at once. Stan hadn’t spoken to him like this in what felt like ages.

“Anyway,” Stan said, putting an arm around Magnus’s shoulders and staring at him hard, “if you’re really okay, I’m gonna go back to the others.”

Magnus was amused by how serious his charge’s face looked. “I’m really okay.” He stood up and pulled Stan to his feet. “Go enjoy yourself. And well done. Tell the boys I say well done to them too.”

Stan nodded and abruptly hugged Magnus tight, planting a cluster of quick, sloppy kisses on the man’s lips before he could react. “Marco’s right, you’re a superstar,” he murmured between kisses. “I love you. I love you. Come on, don’t look so scared, it can’t be a surprise at this point, can it? I love you, you know I love you.”

Magnus remembered to breathe. “You’re drunk.”

“Shut the fuck up with this drunk bullshit. I’m drunk, not crazy.” Stan planted a final kiss on the Swede, lingering this time as if he wanted to do more, but too tipsy or too shy to try. The look on his face was so trusting Magnus found it hard to look at.

“I love you, Magnus.”

He felt a jolt, hearing his name in that voice, in that particular pronunciation, in that tone. “Stan—”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back. I know I surprised you. I wish we could talk now,” Stan sighed, sounding both content and frustrated.

“Didn’t you tell Roger you loved him too?” Magnus teased. “In your press conference? Everyone was joking about it.”

Magnus was blatantly deflecting but Stan was too amused to be irritated. “Are you jealous?”

“Me?” Magnus raised his eyebrows high, shaking his head.

“Ah-hah,” Stan said, releasing his hold on Magnus. He scratched the back of his head. “Anyway, I have to be in Lausanne tomorrow. We have to leave early. So if you’re not joining us I have to say bye now.”

“Okay.” Magnus drew Stan in for another hug. “I’ll see you later. Just enjoy yourself. We can talk training later.” He hesitated, a strange look on his face, then leaned forward, kissing Stan hard.

Stan made a noise in the back of his throat, surprise dissolving into pleasure as Magnus’s tongue entered his mouth, and he tightened his hold, kissing back hard, rubbing his tongue against the taller man's, his hands grabbing Magnus’s ass as they kissed, gasping when Magnus broke away and started kissing his neck, his ear. Magnus ran his hands through Stan’s hair as he put his mouth on Stan’s again and again, unable to stop tasting the younger man’s skin, to stop the hunger of an entire season pouring out of him. It was actually Stan who put a stop to their making out, breaking away and panting, looking at Magnus wide-eyed, his lips wet and a little swollen. Magnus stared back, unable to speak.

Stan chuckled, wiping his lips. “You look just as surprised as I am. Maybe more.”

Magnus blinked. “Sorry.” He felt a powerful erection straining through layers of fabric and he blushed furiously when Stan looked down and grinned.

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll leave you alone now. Maybe you can take care of that while I’m gone.”

Magnus groaned. “You enjoy making me feel like this, don’t you?”

Stan’s eyebrow lifted even higher. “It’s only fair, the way you make me feel,” he said, grabbing Magnus’s hand and pressing it against his own crotch, letting Magnus feel the hardness there. Magnus pulled his hand away quickly, his face turning even darker.

Stan’s grin became toothy. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I’ll leave now.” He kissed Magnus on the cheek, gently. “Bye. I know we still need to talk, by the way. I didn’t forget.”

Magnus blinked, still slightly shocked at what just happened. “Have fun with the boys. And in Lausanne.”

Stan nodded as he left, allowing himself a final cheeky smile in Magnus’s direction as he waved and shut the door.

After a long, still moment Magnus sighed and flopped down on his bed, running a hand through his hair. His embarrassment was the only thing that stopped him from pulling out his still-hard cock and getting himself off immediately.

\- - - - -

**_Melbourne, January 2015_ **

“God those shirts are ugly,” Magnus said.

Stan looked up at him, making a sad face. “What, you don’t like it?” He held out his arms, displaying the arresting pattern of blue-and-white stripes in all its glory.

Stan’s next match wasn’t for another day and a half, but his regular shirts were being laundered by the hotel so he was wearing one of his match outfits. It was late and they were lounging in Magnus’s room, Stan sprawled on the bed scrolling through his phone and chatting on it with a bunch of French tennis players, Magnus sitting at a table reading through a stack of paperwork for Good to Great that Kulti had faxed to the hotel from Sweden.

Magnus shook his head. “Terrible. You should ask Yonex for more money to wear shit like that.”

Stan chortled and got up, walking over to Magnus. He pulled at the man’s chair, dragging it away from the table, and sat down in his lap. Magnus grunted exaggeratedly, pretending to be overcome by the weight.

Stan ignored the teasing and leaned back a little, his back to Magnus. “If the shirt’s so ugly, you’re welcome to take it off of me.”

Magnus sighed and pushed Stan off, gently. “I was doing work.”

“You don’t want to take a break?” Stan murmured as he stood up. A sheepish grin crept up on his face. “Help me celebrate my divorce?”

“WHAT? You what?”

“Too loud,” Stan winced, leaning against a dresser. “It’s not done yet, our lawyers are still dealing, talking about how the money is going to get settled. And how to do what’s good for Alexia. But we actually decided to divorce awhile ago. Ilham and I were talking about it all of last year. We made the decision after the final in Lille, once I got home.”

Magnus blinked. “This isn’t because of... of...” He pointed at himself slowly.

Stan made a face. “It’s not ‘cause of you, okay? This was a long time coming. Only reason we stayed together for so long was for Alexia. But that’s not enough.”

Magnus was quiet, a thoughtful expression on his face. Stan went back over to where Magnus was sitting and began massaging the man’s shoulders. The Swede didn't react, letting Stan touch him.

When Stan spoke again, his tone was sheepish. “Look, I know we have to talk, but can we wait until the slam is over?”

Magnus nodded, his eyes closed by Stan’s touch. “I wouldn’t ask that of you in the middle of a slam anyway. I can wait.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Stan’s hands started moving down Magnus’s chest.

“Oh no you don’t. Not until we talk.”

Stan sighed and ruffled Magnus’s hair as hard as he could. “Yes, boss.”

\- - - - -

**_Miami, March 2015_ **

“I can’t believe you tweeted that. I was sleeping!”

“It was a cute picture. You said you were going to relax for a few minutes and then suddenly you’re snoring for two hours straight.”

“Yeah yeah, I know I’m getting old, alright? Can’t keep up with you.”

“You’re not old,” Stan said, smiling fondly.

Magnus looked away, embarrassed. They were taking a break during their morning practice, sitting on the benches by their court and enjoying the cool air before the Florida sun began to beat down on them in earnest. They’d been practicing with a junior player, a talented American kid, but he’d run off to use the bathroom so they were alone for the moment.

“By the way, Lawrence sent me an SMS. Looks like the photoshoot’s gonna happen soon. Here.”

Magnus frowned. “The naked one? For ESPN?”

Stan eyed him. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that. I just thought you weren’t gonna do it.”

“I wasn’t, but Lawrence said they’d do it properly. No foolishness, nothing I don’t want to do. And Lawrence will be there to supervise. Do you want come with me too?” He looked pointedly at Magnus as he lifted up his shirt a bit and flexed his stomach, his abs rippling gently with the movement as he stared, his expression decidedly innocent.

Magnus made a skeptical noise and looked away, sipping from his water bottle. “Thanks, I’ll pass.”

“Why not? You’ve seen me naked before.”

He coughed, not quite choking on his water. They hardly ever mentioned their night together in Melbourne last year, and certainly not in public. Not that anyone was in earshot, but there were people practicing on courts nearby.

“I didn’t see much of anything that night.”

“Hmmph. Thanks a lot.”

Magnus sputtered, punching Stan on the shoulder. “You know what I mean. It was dark that night.”

“Plus I was doing most of the work.” Stan’s expression was smug.

“Yeah yeah, that’s enough. Break time’s over. Get up!”

They resumed practicing, both working up a decent sweat before their junior even returned. Once they were finished for the morning they took a few pictures with the kid and then walked back to the apartment that they were renting from the Evert Academy. They both took quick showers, Stan letting Magnus have the nicer bathroom out of habit, and once they were clean and in fresh clothes they met in the kitchen for a lunch of grilled fish, salad, watermelon, and plain pasta with olive oil, all of which Stan prepared deftly while Magnus watched. Their lunch was taken in companionable silence, Magnus nodding every so often at Stan in approval over their meal, and then it was Stan’s turn to sit and watch as Magnus washed the dishes and the grill pan.

They were resting in the living room stretched out on separate couches, each scrolling through their phones, when a wall clock chimed. Stan sighed. “2pm already.”

“Get up! Time for afternoon practice,” Magnus exhorted before yawning and stretching as hard as he could, his fingers and toes curling. 

Stan snorted. “You sure you don’t want to take another nap?” The Swede stood up and let out a loud burp in response.

Back out on the courts he put Stan through his paces again—this time it was just the two of them. They didn’t always do two practices a day, but they’d only arrived in Florida earlier in the week and they needed to spend time in the humidity and the heat to get used to it.

Sure enough, as the afternoon wore on and the sun poured its relentless fire over them, Stan began to fade, sweating profusely. By the time it was nearing 5 o’clock the Swiss was calling for a break, sitting down by the fence, and Magnus was the fresher of the two even though he’d been doing most of the drills alongside Stan.

“Really?” Magnus called out with mock surprise as Stan sat on the ground, his chest heaving. “The Stanimal’s given up? I gotta take a picture of this.” He ran to his bench and picked up his phone.

Stan smiled, his expression suggesting he’d find a way to get back at Magnus later. “You’re not going to tweet that are you?”

“It didn’t cross my mind, but now that you mention it,” pausing as he snapped a couple pics, “I will later. Then we’ll be even.”

Stan got up, shaking his head. “You’re only fine ‘cause you had that nap yesterday.”

“Well, looks like you’re gonna need one today too.”

After practice was finished this time their walk back to the apartment was more of a trudge, and both were yawning as they went off to hit the showers. After he’d dried off and changed, Magnus padded into the kitchen for some cold water. Stan was there already, his hair damp and wild, nursing a glass.

Magnus grabbed a glass and pressed it against the dispenser in the refrigerator door, chuckling as the glass filled up. “Welcome to America.”

Stan looked over at him. “Are you hungry? I can get started on dinner now.” He didn’t sound all that enthusiastic.

“I’m not hungry. And I’m guessing you’re not really either.”

Stan shook his head.

“Right, take it easy for a bit then. I could use a nap. I think you could too.” Magnus drained his glass and put it in the sink, ruffling Stan’s wet hair playfully before walking off to his bedroom. He felt Stan’s eyes following him as he walked off.

Back in his room, Magnus sighed contentedly as he flopped onto his bed. For someone as tall as him the bed was kind of small, but he liked to curl up a bit anyway so it didn’t matter. He laid on top of the covers as it wasn’t cool enough to crawl into the sheets, and he breathed in and out slowly, deliberately, willing his heart rate to slow. He was tired, but it was a good tired, and he and Stan had gotten a lot of work in. Days like this, ones that felt both productive and relaxing, were rare, and he savored the feeling of it, feeling the wakefulness draining out of his body, slowly and steadily.

Then there was a weight on the bed, and he felt legs up against his, a warm, strong body pressing into his back, and an arm reaching over to encircle his torso gently, softly. He sighed, leaning into the body behind him absently before realizing what was happening.

“Stan??” he started, turning over to stare at the Swiss man.

“You don’t need to shout,” Stan grumbled, staring at Magnus. His eyes were dark and intense, filled with need. Magnus swallowed as memories came flooding back.

“Stan, I think you should go to your room.”

“Why?”

“I told you, we’re not doing anything until we talk. And I can’t guarantee anything even then.”

“It’s been a year,” Stan murmured, shaking his head. “Fucking shit, it’s been OVER a year. I’m sick of this. I just want you.” He kissed Magnus lightly on the ear, on the neck, on the face. “Just fucking kiss me. Be with me. Please. Let’s talk after dinner.”

“Stan,” Magnus said, trying to concentrate as kiss after kiss landed on his skin, “we can’t. I’m—” He was cut off as Stan kissed him hard on the mouth, once, then twice.

“You’re what? You don’t want me? I know that’s not true,” Stan whispered. He shuffled closer to Magnus, kissing his neck again.

“I’m your coach.”

Stan snorted. “Don’t give me that. It’s more than a year since we fooled around. And even when things were strange or hard between us we still worked well together. We’re a good team no matter what we do in this room.” He leaned in again, kissing Magnus on the ear, on the cheek, his hand rubbing the Swede’s tummy.

“I’m old too,” Magnus said, self-consciously touching the folds at the corner of his eyes, running a hand through the thinning hair at the top of his head.

“Don’t act like you’re some grandpa. You’re only a little older than me,” Stan said, stroking Magnus’s face. “And you’re fucking hot. I want you. Remember when you took your shirt off during practice? You looked so good. I would have let you take me right there, in front of everyone.” He kissed Magnus on the mouth again, refusing to relent until he drew a moan out of Magnus’s throat. “Besides, I’ve been with older people before,” he joked.

The reference to Ilham made Magnus tense up. “That’s the other thing. You’re married.”

Stan nuzzled Magnus’s ear. “Not anymore,” he purred, caressing Magnus’s chest, clearly ignorant of the mistake he’d made.

“Fine, you were married.” Magnus grabbed Stan’s wandering hand. “But one of us still is, okay? How about you don’t ruin another marriage right now?”

He knew he’d fucked up even before Stan froze, before the room went still.

“Stan, look—”

But even he didn’t know if what he was about to say was an apology or not, because he was cut off as Stan practically flew off the bed and out of the room. A few moments later a door down the hall was slammed shut incredibly hard, making him jump.

_**_

“Stan?” Magnus knocked, softly. “I’m sorry.” He tried the doorknob, but as expected it was locked.

“Fuck you. You think you don’t have a role in this too? Fuck YOU. Get lost.”

The words were apparently muffled under a blanket or into a pillow, but they still stung Magnus hard, harder than he’d been expecting.

“Okay, I deserve that. But come on, we can’t go on like this.” He waited, but there was only silence. He felt fear slowly gripping his chest, its cold fingers dancing down his back, and he tried not to panic.

“Stan, listen to me. Listen, please. It’s not that I don’t want to— Look, I just don’t want anything to happen that would make us stop working together. Or even,” his breath catching painfully at the thought, “make us hate each other. Come on, we managed to put this off for a long time but we can’t get away with that anymore. We need to talk first. Before we do something stupid.”

There was no answer. Magnus sighed, and suddenly his eyes began to sting. He blinked the moisture back angrily and walked slowly back to his room.

_**_

He ran back to the door again, knocking hard enough to wake the dead. “Stan?” he yelled, practically punching the door with his fist.

There was no answer, not even a “fuck off.” He slammed his body against the door, once, twice. He heard wood cracking, the metal of the lock clanking exuberantly as it broke. A third slam at the door, and he was in. He rushed to the bed, pulling the covers off the lump underneath.

But there was no one there, just a huge pile of Stan’s blue-and-white striped shirts. He dug through the shirts frantically, throwing them aside one after another, but they kept appearing. He sped up his efforts, screaming in frustration, and finally got down to the last shirt, but as he pulled it off the bed there was a horrendous tearing sound, revealing a gaping hole in the mattress, one that seemed to go down into the floor, into the ground, into forever.

Magnus stared, unsure of what he was looking at. He thought he heard a faint voice come from far below, and he yelled.

“Stan!”

Suddenly the room started shaking, first a gentle rumble, and then a violent thrashing that seemed to be almost sentient in nature, that seemed to be trying to trip him off his feet and tumble him into the bottomless pit. He clung to a dresser as the shaking pitched the room about, trying not to scream as the hole started to widen, getting closer and—

His shoulder was being shaken hard and he yelped, realizing he’d been asleep. He blinked, turning over to look at who it was.

“Stan?” Even half-awake he couldn’t help but smile in relief as he rubbed his eyes.

Stan fell on top of him, hugging him fiercely and shaking silently with suppressed sobs. Magnus stroked his back, whispering, babbling into his ear, “It’s okay, I’m sorry, it’s okay.” He kissed Stan on the cheek over and over as he whispered. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

After a couple of minutes the trembling subsided. Stan exhaled fiercely.

“You’re right,” he said, exhaling hard a second time as he spoke into the hollow of Magnus’s neck. “I’m sorry too.” Stan lifted his head to make eye contact, and Magnus’s heart sank a bit as he took in how red the man’s eyes were. He stroked Stan’s hair, smoothing some of the wild patches down, and Stan looked away, trying to obscure how much the touch meant to him.

“You know we can’t just hop into bed and hope everything will be fine after. Let’s not... go there until after Roland Garros. Once we’re back in Europe you’re gonna be too busy to think about this for awhile anyway.”

Stan nodded, looking glum. “This is nice though,” he ventured shyly, holding Magnus tighter and sighing. Magnus nodded and stroked Stan’s back up and down.

“Not to change the subject, but we really should eat something.”

“I know,” Stan smiled, weakly. “I did some cooking while you were sleeping.”

“You did?” Magnus sniffed. He could smell something mellow and savory wafting in from the kitchen.

“Come on. Get up.”

They walked slowly to the kitchen, and Magnus watched as Stan set out what he’d made on the counter: a pair of chicken breasts grilled and covered in marinara sauce, kale sautéed with what smelled like a lot of garlic, and a pot of brown rice.

Without any discussion Magnus grabbed a plate and loaded it up with all three items, indicating with a jerk of his head that he was going to eat in the living room. Stan followed his lead and they sat next to each other on one of the couches, eating slowly and watching some sitcom about nerds and geeks littered with comfortably predictable jokes. When they were done eating Magnus gathered their plates and went back to the kitchen to clean up.

He’d put the leftover food away and was almost done cleaning up when he heard the TV shut off and Stan padding back into the kitchen. He felt Stan come up behind him as he washed the last pan, snaking his arms around Magnus’s waist and resting his head on his shoulders.

When Magnus was finished, they walked back to the living room and stretched out next to each other on the larger of the two couches. They laid there, staring into each other’s eyes, petting each other’s face, kissing softly a couple times. They laid there for an hour, maybe two, just looking at each other, as if they’d never seen each other before and never would again.

\- - - - -

**_Järfälla, April 2015_ **

“Herregud! Look at those shorts!”

Magnus looked up from his papers at Kristina, who had the strangest grimace on her face. She was pointing to the flatscreen on the wall which was tuned to Monte-Carlo—Stan’s match had just started.

The camera cut to Stan warming up and Magnus’s eyes widened. “Skit. What the fuck is that?”

Everyone in the Good to Great office broke out into loud laughter.

\- - - - -

**_Lausanne, April 2015_ **

Stan opened the door, grinning in welcome. “How did you do?” he said, walking back to the kitchen.

Magnus snorted and followed him into the flat, pulling off his knit cap. “Terrible. I forgot how hilly your city is. And I’ve been running for weeks!”

“What was your time though?” Stan pressed. He poked a finger into a sizzling pan to test the food’s doneness, a habit that always made Magnus wince to watch.

“An hour and forty-one.”

The time wasn’t bad at all but Stan whistled, shaking his head and tutting, and Magnus threw his cap at the Swiss, who caught it deftly and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

Magnus deliberately ignored the quick reaction, looking around instead. “Your place is nice by the way. Nice view of the lake,” gesturing out the window. “A bit bare though.”

Even though the public had only just heard about the divorce, Stan had moved out of his home in Saint-Barthélemy at the end of last year. Since then he’d been using this rented apartment for the rare times he was able to be in Switzerland, just a few minutes’ car journey from his daughter and other relatives. He’d had the flat for years in fact, as it was a useful space for when friends and relatives came into town, but now it was his main residence and not an occasional crashpad. On the rare occasions Magnus had visited Stan at home in the past, it had always been in Saint-Barthélemy. And he’d never stayed the night.

“You’re just noticing now? You were here earlier, before you left to go run.”

“Yeah, but just to drop my stuff off. You need to give me a tour after we eat.”

Stan snorted. “It’s not a big place. You walked through most of it just to get here,” he said, waving his arms around at the kitchen.

“Well, let me go take a quick shower, get the sweat off me. Then we can eat.” He pulled off his shirt, forgetting where he was.

Stan stared for a second then grinned suddenly, walking up to Magnus. “Can I join you?” he whispered, putting a hand on Magnus’s bare chest.

Magnus kept his expression neutral and backed away a step, raising his eyebrows. “Won’t the food burn?”

Stan wasn’t to be deterred and he put his arms around Magnus, ignoring the other man’s yelp of protest.

“Hey! I’m all sweaty!”

“I don’t mind. I like it.” Stan nuzzled the man’s face with his nose, tickled his ear with his scruff. “After you shower maybe I could rub down those hot legs of yours.” He licked Magnus’s jaw from chin to ear, one hand traveling down the Swede’s back to grab his ass.

“Stan!” Magnus pushed the man away, blushing hard. “What’s with you?”

Stan made a face. “You and your stupid ‘no sex until Roland Garros is over’ bullshit. I am so fucking horny for you these days. I keep thinking about you when I play with myself.”

Magnus felt as if his face would explode from embarrassment. “I told you. In Miami, more than once. I just want you fully focused on Paris before we... go there a second time, okay?”

Stan sniffed, his nostrils flaring in amusement. “Don’t tell me you believe that old superstition about no sex before a match. The older guys still joke about you fucking woman after woman during slams.”

“No,” Magnus sputtered, “definitely not. But if we go there it’s gonna complicate things again. Even if what happens between us after we go there is one hundred percent what you wanted to happen, everything’s still gonna be more complicated for you. And you don’t need that when you have some important weeks coming up. I just think you’ll be better off concentrating on one thing at a time.”

Stan sighed. “June is such a long time away.”

Magnus opened his mouth to say something, but then a strange look crossed his face. He sniffed.

Stan was confused, but when he sniffed back he started swearing and ran back to the stove.

Magnus laughed. “See, what did I tell you? I’m gonna go shower.”

_**_

They were eating in their usual comfortable silence, apart from Stan muttering more than once that the meat was burned. But aside from the crust being a good deal darker than Magnus knew Stan usually cooked his steaks, it tasted fine to him, and he said so after the third grumble.

“I blame you,” Stan said, nevertheless putting another big forkful into his mouth.

“I warned you the food would burn.” He grinned when Stan rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, I wasn’t joking,” Stan said between mouthfuls, pointing with a piece of bread. “I can’t stop thinking about doing it with you.”

Magnus felt the embarrassment rising again and pushed it aside as best he could. “You know, if you’ve been feeling so...”

“Horny?” Stan offered with a grin. Magnus knew that his shyness whenever they discussed sex always amused the Swiss.

“Yes. Why haven’t you found someone to take care of it with?” He looked down, unable to meet Stan’s eyes.

Stan was still for a second before pursing his lips and putting down his fork. “I did. Last year, after we left Wimbledon.” Magnus looked up sharply, but he kept going. “I was so angry with you, the way you let me love you, cook for you, care for you, hold you, make you feel like a king, and then you wouldn’t give me anything back. Except what you had to as a coach. You wouldn’t even talk to me until I was about to get on a plane. So I fucked around. A lot.” He sighed. “That’s what finally did it with Ilham by the way. She saw an SMS. From one of my hookups.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s not your fault. I found her going through my phone. And it wasn’t the first time she found out something like that,” he trailed off, looking sheepish.

“I mean about how I treated you. I didn’t know that’s how you felt.” He reached out under the table with his foot, rubbing Stan’s leg.

Stan’s look turned hot with anger and he pulled away, scooting his chair back. “You know you just did it again, right?”

“What?”

“Knowing my feelings about you, promising we’re gonna try taking things further once Roland Garros is over, suddenly asking to spend the night while you’re here doing your running around in my neighborhood, then sitting here calmly asking why I don’t fuck someone else if I’m really so horny. What do you think that feels like? Come on, say something.”

After a long moment, “There’s nothing to say. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Are you jealous? That I’ve been fucking around.”

Magnus sighed. “To be honest, yes. I know I have no right to be, but yes.” He stared hard at Stan, trying to convey his apology through his eyes.

Stan studied the older man, his temper cooling. “Anyway, I haven’t done that since last year,” he mumbled, suddenly shy.

“Why not? Like I said, I have no right to stop you.”

He grinned crookedly. “Kind of hard to do when most of your free time is spent dealing with divorce bullshit. Also that was around the time you admitted you had feelings for me. In London. Before Davis Cup.”

The memories came back to Magnus, the most prominent one being running out of the lockerroom right before Stan pulled down his shorts. His face felt hot.

“You haven’t fooled around since I said I had feelings for you?”

Stan raised his eyebrows and took another bite of his food, making Magnus’s face burn harder. After a few beats, Magnus picked up his cutlery and began eating again as well.

They’d been been chewing for a few minutes when suddenly Magnus chuckled.

“Are we finally talking? About us?”

Stan smiled slowly. “Technically we started to in Miami. But yes, I guess we are.”

“Anyway, no wonder you’re horny. If you want I can go find a hotel and stay away,” Magnus said toothily.

Stan made a frustrated noise. “I’d punch you if you weren’t kidding. Don’t even think that, I want you here. But I still don’t understand why you want to wait until after Roland Garros. It’s not like we haven’t done stuff before,” his eyes clouding over with the memory as he looked at the Swede.

Magnus made a face. “Knowing we’re planning to go there is totally different to waking in the middle of the night and having some pervert creep up on you.”

Stan guffawed, not so much at the joke but at the fact that Magnus felt comfortable enough to make one.

“Anyway. It’s not that I’m afraid about... the sex. Well, I won’t lie, I am nervous,” Magnus said, ignoring Stan’s grin. “But I just don’t want you distracted at all going into Paris. You have a really good chance to win. I don’t want to change anything right now. And I told you how I feel about never getting the chance to play another Roland Garros final. I’m not going to let you or me or ‘us’ do anything to fuck up your chances.”

Stan looked at him thoughtfully. “After your final, against Guga. How were you?”

Magnus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well you know, right? I told you that story before. Lots of times. I was devastated, man. It was a slam final. But Guga was king of clay before Nadal, so what can you do?

“But that’s the thing. I told myself, after that final, ‘What can I do? Oh well, I guess I’ll have more chances. There’ll be other slams, other finals.’ And then what? Shitty results and then injuries, fucking problem after problem. You know I only won seven slam matches after that Roland Garros? Fucking total of seven. When I retired I hadn’t won a match at a slam for three years. Pathetic.

“That’s why I’m so proud of you. Last year, you had your opportunity, and you fucking took it. You took it! And you have a huge opportunity here, to gain points, to make the final. And when you get there you’re gonna win it. You’re gonna do better than me and you’re going to take that fucking trophy, no matter who stands in your way.”

Stan was stone-still, left a bit breathless by Magnus’s intensity. His eyes began to glitter with a distant look as he soaked up the faith pouring off the other man.

“You really think I can win?”

Magnus snorted. “What have I been telling you since we started working together? From day one? Belief, man. You won Australia just a year ago taking out Novak and Nadal. You beat Roger in a clay final he really wanted to win last year. You almost had him in London too. Both times in London. And everyone knows you were the star in Lille. And you almost beat Novak to make the final at Melbourne again. On a good day you can beat anyone. ANYONE. You can do this.”

It was Stan’s turn to blush, his face turning a darker red. “I’ve been playing like shit lately though.”

Magnus shook his head. “You’d probably disagree but I say what happened between us in Miami affected you. Plus you were distracted with sponsor bullshit and media. And doing those naked photos.”

“I knew you didn’t want me doing that.”

“Because it was a distraction. Anyway, like I’m saying there’s plenty of legit reasons you had tough results in the US. You’ve been practicing great. Everything we’ve been working on has been going well, your backhand,what we changed with your serve, everything. You can win this. So like I said, no distractions until you’re done in Paris, and when I say distractions I’m including me. We have to give you the best preparation for Roland Garros. We’re not changing a damn thing right now.”

Stan smiled. “I did the right thing to hire you.”

Magnus frowned, looking sour. “I thought you just wanted my coaching. Not my body,” he grumbled.

“You’re saying you want some extra money for that?” The Swiss blinked innocently.

“Hell yeah. Danger money. Workman’s comp. Damages. Pain and suffering...”

Stan laughed, kicking Magnus under the table.

_**_

That night it was Stan who fell asleep right away, breathing soft and slow as he cuddled up against Magnus’s side, one hand gently clutching the Swede’s arm. Magnus was on his back, his eyes wide open, smelling the faint scent of the sheets Stan had just laundered that day, the heady smell of the man’s hair and skin wafting over to him gently, inexorably. He stared into the quiet, into the dark, into the blank canvas of the ceiling, for a long, long time.

\- - - - -

**_Paris, June 2015_ **

_Someone gave me a diamond, was a little bit unpolished._  
_Small things. There are no secrets._  
_— Magnus Norman_

_**_

“You were amazing. Fucking amazing.” He hugged Stan hard, slapping him on the back. The lockerrooms weren’t nearly as busy as they were a week ago, but it was still only the quarterfinals and there were people milling about, so Magnus was keeping his voice low to keep from being overheard.

Still, it was hard to keep the excitement out of his voice. “And look at you coming to net at match point! That’s what I like to see.”

Stan smirked. “You weren’t saying that in London.”

Magnus laughed, remembering the match last winter, the argument between Stan and Roger that had ended as quickly as it started. A thoughtful look took over his face.

“Ha. I don’t think anyone’s beaten Roger with such style in a long, long time.” He grinned fiercely, toothily, ruffling Stan’s sweaty hair.

Stan’s face turned even redder under his sunscreen as he looked down at the floor. But then he looked up suddenly, his eyes flashing. “It’s because of you,” he said, his voice just as low and urgent.

“C’mon, stop that. You need to be better about taking credit for how good you are.”

“But that’s what I mean,” Stan muttered, his brows knitting together as he shook his head. “You don’t see? My confidence, my belief, since two years ago. It’s because of you.” He grabbed Magnus’s arm impulsively, squeezing hard. “I’m going to win this because of you. I’m gonna win this FOR you. You’ve had to go through, what, three finals here already? You’re going to get your trophy this time.”

Magnus felt something cold dance down his spine. “Don’t talk like that. You need to be doing this for yourself, not for me.”

“Why not both? I’m doing it for my parents and for Alexia too. And Seve and Roger. Why not for you? Just two more matches, you’ll see. I’ll get you this fucking trophy.”

“Stan—” Magnus realized his voice was shaking, and he took a breath. “Remember what we talked about when we got here. One match at a time.”

Stan made a face. “And what about what you told me in Lausanne? Belief, man. I have it. And I know you have it too.”

Magnus was silent, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny it, and Stan grinned. He hugged Magnus again, crushing him in his embrace and whispering in his ear.

“We’re gonna win this. You and me.”

Magnus was too overcome to do more than hug back, and then they broke apart when Stephane and Lawrence appeared yelling their congratulations, demanding hugs of their own. But the moment hung in the air, and both men could feel the energy of it fizzing about them as they were joined by yet another wave of well-wishers.

_**_

“Seriously, your shorts are fucking ridiculous.”

“Really? I kind of like them now,” Stan said, looking as impish as Magnus had ever seen him. They were sat on a bench at their practice court, taking a short break. Stephane was at other side of the court, absently going through a stretch routine while he scrolled through his phone.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re in the semifinal now. Thank god you don’t have to wear them today. And that shirt isn’t any better. Are they trying to make my eyes bleed?”

“If my clothes bother you so much there’s a solution. You can take them off me.”

“Hey!” Magnus punched him on the arm, looking around to the other courts, to the fans watching intently. “We’re in public.”

Stan snorted, motioning towards Stephane, the audience behind the fencing. “And the closest people can’t hear a thing we’re saying.” He shot Magnus a thoughtful glance. “Have you never done anything with a guy before me? Even the most conservative guys usually try something once when they’re younger.”

Magnus felt his face changing color. “Scandinavians aren’t prudes,” he responded softly, “we just don’t really go around bragging about who we’ve fucked. Haven’t you noticed I don’t really join in when the guys are bantering?” He was referring to Stephane and Lawrence.

“Still,” Stan pressed, “our night wasn’t your first, was it?”

Magnus sighed, relenting. “Back when I was a teenager. I was drinking with one of my good friends at his house while his parents were away. He told me he had a crush on me, and he started touching me and kissing me. I let him touch me, and then I let him suck me off.”

“And what about him?”

“I didn’t do anything to him. Maybe I was worried about doing something gay. Or maybe I was just too shy, or too drunk. I don’t know.”

“Hmmm.” Stan shifted on the bench, adjusting himself and staring at Magnus intently. “That’s kind of hot.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “The next day we both acted like nothing happened. I’d forgotten all about it until this whatever-this-is between you and me started last year.”

“He never talked to you about it after?”

“No. Maybe he had second thoughts about his feelings. Or he was waiting for me to say something first and gave up when I didn’t. Who knows.”

Stan stuck his lower lip out and pointed at Magnus’s shirt, which had “LOVE HURTS” printed on it. “So you were always a heartbreaker?” The Swiss was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah yeah,” Magnus drawled acidly, standing up and smacking Stan on the shoulder. “Up! Break time’s over.”

_**_

Three days later Magnus gaped as the final backhand winner flew off Stan’s racquet, and he grabbed his head in his hands as the moment of victory surged through his body like electricity, wondering if his head would actually explode, half hoping it would. He felt himself shrieking like a banshee—he, of all people, shrieking—but couldn’t hear himself at all, drowned out as he was by the massive, approving roar of the thousands in the stands, and then he was being hugged over and over, jostled and gathered into people’s arms.

He looked back to the court to see Stan, whose figure looked so alone, so powerful amidst that expanse of warm brick, so absurd in his outfit of pink and grey, as he hugged Novak at the net and then turned towards him, pointing at him with both hands, the emotion clearly readable on his face even at a distance. He clapped for the man as hard as he could, riding on the sound of the crowd’s approval of their new champion. His champion.

When Stan accepted the trophy from Guga, the whip-thin man looking like a fallen piece of sky in a suit of pale blue, it was all he could do to not double over with emotion. He felt himself standing on court, on the platform with Stan. He felt the mass love for the Swiss pulsing through the expanse of Chatrier, in nearly the same way he remembered it happening for another Swiss six years ago, for a Brazilian fifteen years ago, except this time he felt like he was finally welcomed into that love, that it would preserve him forever in its sunny embrace. And when Stan walked to the edge of the platform and lifted the Coupe des Mousquetaires high, he felt his heart fly with it.

_**_

He stood in front of Stan’s locker with his cap and sunglasses removed and placed on the bench, waiting in the quiet aisle for the winner to finish with photographers and reporters and finally come off court. The Djokovic camp was already hunkered down with their charge in a different part of the lockerroom far away, commiserating and talking in low voices.

He’d specifically told Stephane, Seve, Lawrence, and everyone else eager to see Stan, to record and film the winner, to hang back so he’d be able to talk to the man alone when he arrived. They’d relented, but he knew they’d only give him a few minutes at most.

And then suddenly Stan swept up the aisle in a riot of color, the pink and grey of his outfit clashing against the deep blue of the racquet bag slung over his shoulder, the gleaming silver cup clutched in his arms like a grail.

“Magnus—” Stan breathed, his voice breaking, and he practically dropped the bag and trophy on the bench before rushing to the man.

They crashed together in a powerful embrace, shaking, feeling almost sick with pleasure. Stan started whispering.

“I told you. I fucking told you. I did it.”

Magnus held the man, breathing in his sweat, his hair, his sunscreen, the memory of the applause out on Chatrier thrumming in his mind again.

“You did, you did. And I’m so proud of you. You were amazing.”

Stan pulled back, and Magnus saw his eyes were wet.

“Like I said. This trophy is yours too. Ours, not mine. Don’t forget.”

Magnus inhaled sharply and slammed his mouth onto Stan’s. Stan’s initial surprise quickly dissolved as he put his arms around Magnus’s neck, kissing back hard, tongue to tongue, and they tasted each other hungrily, as fiercely as they could without making any significant noise.

The Swede broke the kiss off and stared into Stan’s eyes, stroking his hair back, wiping the tears away, kissing the man over and over on the lips, the cheeks. He stopped to catch his breath as the defenseless look in Stan’s eyes suddenly quieted the wild swirl of thoughts in his head.

“I love you, Stan.”

Stan’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Don’t say something you don’t mean just because you’re excited right now,” he mumbled, looking down.

Magnus hissed sharply. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare do this to me. You think after all this time, all these months of me overanalyzing everything between us I’d talk like this just because you won?” He talked rapidly, in a fierce whisper, trying to get everything out before the others arrived. “Even if you didn’t win a single game today I’d be here telling you the same thing. Don’t you know me? Don’t you know who I am better than I do? Of course I fucking love you, I love you like crazy.”

The Swiss remembered to breathe. “Again. Say it, please.”

Stan’s eyes were as vulnerable as Magnus had ever seen them. He stroked Stan’s face and kissed him again, gently and slowly this time, his eyes filled with a fierce sadness, an apology that this moment had taken him this long.

“I love you, Stan.”

Stan stared back, smiling slowly and sighing as something deep and knotted seemed to unravel in his chest. He drew Magnus back into his arms.

“I love you too.”

Magnus felt something squeeze his heart and his breath caught. “Say it again. Let me hear it again.”

The man looked up at Magnus and grinned, amused by his passion. “I love you.”

But Magnus shook his head. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Say my name. Please.”

Stan blinked, suddenly understanding. He blushed slightly, lowering his eyes.

“I love you, Magnus—”

Magnus kissed Stan once more, catching the last of his name in his mouth. They kissed over and over and over, making up for lost time, drinking in as much as they could of each other before others arrived.

Sure enough the footsteps and the voices started right when they’d stopped to catch their breaths. They stood there holding each other, panting, grinning as they realized they were in new territory.

Magnus exhaled in resignation, wiping his mouth, fixing Stan’s hair. “Your whole family’s here so there’s gonna be no way we can be alone tonight,” he said softly.

Stan sighed as well, letting go of Magnus and stepping back a pace. “And tomorrow’s going to be busy with media now.”

“So. London, then?” Magnus suggested, not very happily. He grabbed his cap and put it back on.

Stan groaned. “As this rate one of Roger’s girls will win Roland Garros before I see you naked again.”

Magnus threw his head back, laughing. “That’s what you get for being a champion. CHAMPION!” he yelled, grinning fiercely and pumping his fist.

Not a couple moments later Seve rounded the corner looking fiercely happy in his silent, understated fashion, then Stephane brandishing a bottle of Moët, and then Lawrence with media in tow, and then the rest all piled in, drowning the pair in the happy chaos of hugs and shouts and photos.

\- - - - -

**_London, June 2015_ **

Magnus knew Stan was nervous as hell when their first trip to Sainsbury’s to stock up their rented house saw a total of maybe twenty words exchanged between them. Normally when they’d shop together Stan would argue with him over what to buy or tease Magnus when he grabbed something imported from Sweden or marked as gluten-free, but he was mute for most of the trip. He seemed to recover some of his calm as they worked together to put away the stuff they’d bought, but when Magnus settled into a kitchen stool to watch him cook their lunch he began to falter again, his usual aplomb in the kitchen replaced by a scattered, jittery quality.

When the Swiss dropped an open bag of frozen peas on the floor he cursed as the little green balls went everywhere, and Magnus laughed, getting up to help him pick them up. They worked quickly, picking up the peas by hand and dropping them into a bowl Magnus had pulled out of a cabinet.

“Don’t!” Magnus yelped when Stan took the bowl and turned on the disposal. “Can’t you just give them a rinse?”

Stan made a face and dumped the bowl’s contents down the sink, running some water as the disposal crunched on the soft, icy peas. “We don’t know how clean the floor is,” turning the disposal and then the faucet off. He sighed and put the bowl in the sink, wiping his hands on a towel. “Anyway, the bag’s still mostly full.” He pointed at the counter.

Magnus grabbed the bag, twisting it closed and popping it in the freezer. “Why did you buy that anyway? You never eat peas.”

Stan blinked. “I don’t really know.”

Magnus laughed. “I think I know. Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.

Stan blinked again, his face flushing. “I have to cook lunch.”

“What, suddenly you’re the shy one now?” Magnus couldn’t help grinning as he walked over to Stan, as the man’s eyes seemed to get wider with each step.

“I’m not really hungry right now anyway,” he said as he stopped in front of Stan, his voice low, teasing. “Are you?”

Stan gulped, shaking his head.

He leaned in gently, taking Stan into his arms and giving him a soft kiss. When Stan didn’t move he kissed him again, softly, slowly, being excruciatingly deliberate. He wanted Stan to calm down, to want this as much he did. Another light kiss, then another. He tightened his hold, slowly pressing Stan’s body into his as he brushed his lips over the man’s mouth.

Sure enough, Stan soon lost patience and growled softly, wrapping his arms around Magnus’s neck and kissing him hard, opening Magnus’s mouth with his tongue, his long pent-up lust taking over him. They made out in the quiet of the kitchen, Magnus grabbing Stan’s ass and pressing his crotch into Stan’s, Stan pressing back eagerly, moaning as Magnus began tasting the skin of his neck. He ran his hands through Magnus’s hair, sighing with a pleasure akin to relief.

Magnus took his mouth off Stan’s neck to give him one last rough kiss and grabbed his hand, leading him up the stairs. Once they got inside the Swede’s room the pair frantically took off each other’s shirts and flopped onto the large bed, kissing hungrily, stroking each other’s bodies. Magnus got on top of Stan and pressed his erection against the younger man’s, making Stan close his eyes and bite his lower lip. He took one of Stan’s nipples into his mouth and began licking and sucking on it as he ground himself against Stan, and the Swiss began breathing hard.

Magnus kissed Stan’s neck again, eliciting another moan. He paused, then did it again, drawing more noise from Stan. He chuckled.

“Didn’t know you liked that so much,” he whispered in the man’s ear.

“Shut up. Give me more.” Stan’s face was flushed, his eyes dark with pleasure.

Magnus chuckled. “You want more?” He sat up and yanked Stan’s shorts and underwear off in one smooth, strong motion, Stan’s hard dick springing out eagerly. He spread the man’s muscular legs, kneeling between them. Stan went wide-eyed.

“You— Magnus, don’t. We don’t need to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Magnus looked up, glaring. “You’re joking, right?” He snorted when Stan meekly shook his head. He knew he could look incredibly stern when he wanted to, and he was oddly pleased that Stan was clearly enjoying being at the receiving end of that intensity.

He grabbed Stan’s dick and leaned down, hesitating just slightly before licking the tip. He licked it gently over and over, tasting the bead of moisture oozing out of the tip, then running his tongue more insistently over Stan’s cock, up and down as the gasps from the man started to embolden him and made his own dick grow even harder. Finally he took Stan’s cock into his mouth, making him groan loudly.

For Magnus, the experience of having a cock in his mouth for the first time was... well, new was inadequate to describe it, but he mostly couldn’t think of anything else except the man writhing underneath him in pleasure, the sensation in his loins as his own cock throbbed, begging to be released. He put a hand down his shorts and touched himself as he sucked Stan off. “Fuuuck” and “yes” were about the only things Stan could say as Magnus worked, slurping noisily on the hard cock as Stan’s hips bucked up and down, meeting each of Stan’s moans with a noise of encouragement.

Finally Stan pulled Magnus off his dick with a groan and Magnus obliged, moving back up to kiss Stan over and over, on the lips, on the neck, on his chest. Stan pushed Magnus onto his back and tugged off the rest of the man’s clothes, albeit with much less grace than Magnus had done with his.

Magnus chuckled at Stan’s clumsiness but gasped as Stan laid on top of him and he felt the full shock of Stan’s bare warm body against his own, chest against chest, thighs against thighs, and the incomparably sweet feeling of the soft skin of their hard cocks pressing against each other, the wet slickness at the tips, the smell of Stan’s skin and the combination of soft and stiff and slippery making Magnus feel delirious, and he groaned with pleasure, with the knowledge of what they were doing to each other, what they were about to do with each other. When Stan looked at him searchingly he closed his eyes in surrender, letting Stan possess his mouth with his tongue, gasping as he felt Stan gently bite his neck, moaning low as Stan ran his tongue along his collarbone, then down to his nipples where he began sucking. He barely had time to savor the feeling when Stan moved down, kissing his tummy and spreading his legs.

Magnus yelped as Stan began to lick the inside of his thighs, but soon the ticklish feeling gave way to pleasure, and he lay there panting as Stan tasted his skin, groaning impatiently as Stan moved up, little by little, licking his balls, kissing the shaft of his cock, licking the place on his tummy his cock had been leaking onto, everywhere but his dick itself. His hips began to move, almost of their own volition.

When Stan finally took him into his mouth, Magnus began moaning loudly, so loudly that eventually Stan chuckled and stopped.

“You like that?”

Magnus was well past blushing, but he did shut his eyes shyly. “What the fuck do you think?”

Stan laughed and moved back up, sucking Magnus’s nipple hard enough to elicit more noise from the man. He kissed the Swede on the mouth and suddenly got off the bed. “Wait here.”

Magnus watched Stan leave the room, allowing himself to look at Stan’s firm ass as he left. In just a few moments he ran back in, his hard cock wagging stiffly, comically. He had something in his hand.

“What’s that?”

Stan’s face looked extremely innocent. “Lube.”

Magnus’s eyes widened. “I don’t know if I’m ready to get... to do that.”

Stan grinned toothily. “I meant for you to fuck me. Don’t look at me like that,” laying back down next to Magnus and grabbing one of his hands. “I know you want this.” He took Magnus’s hand and placed it on his bare ass. “You stare at this all the time when you think I’m not looking. And you always grab it hard when we kiss. I know you want to fuck me.”

Magnus swallowed nervously. “I do, but...”

“But what?” Stan’s voice was soft, his eyes hungry. He pressed himself against Magnus, his dick throbbing wetly against Magnus’s thigh.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Stan snorted. “It’s not like you have some tree trunk down there.”

Magnus frowned. “You know what I mean. If you’re sore then you might not be a hundred percent for training tomorrow. I don’t want you to pull anything.”

Stan sighed. “Do we have to think about that now?” He kissed Magnus softly on the cheek and grabbed the man’s dick, jerking him off slowly, making good use of the wet stuff that was by this point leaking steadily from Magnus’s cock.

“One of us has to.” Magnus gasped as Stan jerked him off, the slippery feeling nearly overwhelming him.

“How about I fuck you then?” Stan teased, whispering softly as he played with the man’s cock, sending waves of pleasure through Magnus with his touch.

“Go— Go ahead.”

Stan’s breath caught. “What? Are you sure?” He kissed Magnus softly, once, then twice, his hand never leaving Magnus’s dick.

Magnus tried to smile casually, but he was feeling too good, too horny, too captive to Stan’s touch to do it convincingly. “Before I change my mind.”

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. He opened the small bottle he’d brought with him and began lubing up his dick.

Even the wet sounds of Stan stroking himself was turning Magnus on, and he watched as Stan moved and knelt between his legs. But when Stan lifted his legs up he closed his eyes, feeling embarrassed again.

He was therefore taken by surprise when Stan spread his asscheeks and began licking, tasting his crack, rubbing his warm tongue against his hole. He gasped as Stan licked lazy circles around the opening, moaned loudly when Stan began to press on his hole with his tongue.

Stan stopped and looked up, grinning. He applied some lube to Magnus’s ass, chuckling as the man gasped at the coldness.

“Just relax,” Stan said, bending down to kiss Magnus comfortingly.

“I’ll try.”

“Let me make you feel good.”

Something about those words did in fact calm Magnus down and he felt his body loosen up as Stan grabbed him by the ankles. He breathed slowly as he felt Stan press the tip of his dick against his hole. Stan pushed gently, pressing in, in, in, wetly, slow and inexorable.

Suddenly Magnus felt himself open up and gasped as Stan pushed part of the way inside him. He grunted hard as he felt a sharp pain wash over him.

Stan bent down again and kissed Magnus over and over in apology. Magnus kissed back eagerly, almost whimpering in relief as something about the kissing made him forget about the pain. Stan began moving again as they kissed, slowly, gently, always pushing into him.

“Ahh, you feel so good, so tight,” Stan crooned, pitching his hips forward.

Magnus groaned as Stan slid all the way in, up to the hilt. Suddenly there was no more pain, just warmth and length and pleasure. His dick, which had gone a bit soft, was stiffening up again, and fast.

Stan seemed to sense the change and he began thrusting gently, back and forth, slowly, just a little bit at a time, then faster and with longer strokes. Magnus moaned, his eyes shut as Stan began to pump in and out of his ass. Then suddenly, Stan paused.

“Magnus. Look at me.”

His breath caught and he opened his eyes. Stan’s eyes were on him and they were filled with emotion.

“I want you to look at me while we do this. Don’t be embarrassed. We’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

Magnus nodded, caught in Stan’s gaze. They looked at each other steadily, both groaning at the same time as Stan put his hands on Magnus’s shoulders and thrust in hard. He thrust again and again, their eyes never leaving each other.

Stan leaned forward and fell on top of Magnus, licking his biceps, his armpits, gently biting his shoulders, kissing the man as hard as he could as he fucked him eagerly, his feet digging into the mattress for better purchase as they rocked. Magnus groaned into Stan’s mouth and wrapped his legs around the man’s hips, using them to help Stan push in and out. Panting, Stan moved a hand between their bodies, found Magnus’s wet dick, and began jerking him off fast as he pumped in and out.

“Ahhh, god Stan. Stan. I’m close.”

Stan whimpered a soft “me too” before freezing abruptly. He pulled out of Magnus as gently as he could.

“Why did you stop?”

“I don’t want to come like this,” Stan declared, grabbing the lube and reaching behind to put some on his ass. “I want you inside me.”

“Stan—”

“I’ll be fine.”

Before Magnus could mount a serious protest Stan kissed him hard and stroked his dick deftly, with a hand covered in lube. Magnus gasped, his legs spreading in pleasure.

Stan quickly straddled Magnus and lowered himself gently onto Magnus’s cock. Magnus felt the opening, felt the wetness, felt the resistance, but he pushed up gently, letting Stan and gravity help him. Slowly but surely he felt himself entering Stan, and then suddenly he was in halfway. Stan gasped but continued to lower himself down, down, and the two men groaned as Stan slid all of Magnus inside him. Stan began moving up and down, slowly at first, then with more speed as he found his rhythm and balance. He began jacking off as he fucked Magnus’s cock, looking at Magnus hungrily, pinching his own nipples, biting his lower lip again.

Stan’s ass felt so good to Magnus—unbelievably tight, hot, and wet. He felt his body moving, his dick somehow getting even harder and harder as he grabbed Stan’s hips and thrust in and out of the man's ass, feeling giddy every time his thrusts made Stan grunt with pleasure.

“Fuck me, Magnus. Please.”

Magnus groaned and obliged, slamming himself into Stan harder, faster. Stan threw his head back.

“Ahhhh, yes. Keep fucking me. I’m gonna come.”

“Come for me, baby. And look at me.” Even to his own ears, Magnus’s voice sounded thick with lust.

Stan looked into Magnus’s eyes but in the end couldn’t help shutting his own as he came, letting out a near yell, his stomach muscles rippling as his body clenched with the orgasm, spraying hot jets all the way up Magnus’s torso, up to his neck and past his shoulders. The look on Stan’s face coupled with the feel of his firm ass squeezing Magnus’s cock was all the Swede needed, and he grunted wildly in climax, thrusting hard into Stan as he shot over and over, wondering briefly if he would ever stop.

But stop he did and they fell into each other’s arms, panting, kissing breathlessly, tiredly, their bodies sweaty and spent, Magnus gently slipping out of Stan’s ass as they held each other fiercely, their legs tangling as they kissed and came down from the high.

Stan chuckled, filling the silence as their breathing stilled. “Wow.”

Magnus snorted. “Wow yourself.”

“No, really,” Stan said, pulling back and propping himself on an elbow to grin at Magnus. “I was not expecting that.” He started running a finger over Magnus’s wet chest, smeared with his jizz and their sweat.

“I always said we’d do this after Paris, didn’t I?” He batted the hand away.

Stan shook his head, grinning. He poked Magnus on a another wet patch of skin. “I don’t mean that. I mean you calling me your baby. I’m your baaaaaaby, hahahahaha.”

Magnus finally blushed.

_**_

“Admit it, you were jealous.”

Magnus burped rudely, the noise carrying down the cozy, quiet street he and Stan were walking down. “You wish.”

After Roger, his family, and their massive entourage had finally arrived and settled in London in advance of Wimbledon, Stan and Magnus invited Stephane and Lawrence as well as the Federer horde over for dinner. However, everyone quickly agreed that it made more sense for the few of them to come to one of the houses Roger was renting instead of having a crowd descend on Stan’s house. After a fine evening of eating and chatting they’d just finished saying goodbye to everyone and were walking back to their house, the sky awash in the orange-blue gradient of twilight at well past nine, the sun’s last flames dying in the west as the cobalt hand of night rose up from the east, a gibbous moon almost directly overhead.

“No one else notices, but I can tell. The way you stick out your chest whenever you talk to Roger, especially when I’m close by. And the way you looked at him when he hugged me earlier, haha! You should have seen your face.”

Magnus snorted, grateful that his blushing was hard to detect in the growing darkness. “And what about your face when Stephane mentioned you’ve been moving like you’ve had a pole up your ass during practice these last two weeks?”

Stan guffawed, unfazed. “Come on, I know you’re dying to ask.”

Magnus sighed. “Ask what?”

“If I ever fucked Roger.”

He nearly tripped on the pavement. “Man! Keep your voice low.”

Stan grinned, his eyes twinkling in the fading light. “Well?”

Magnus sighed. “Yes, I’ve been curious for a long time. You two seem awfully flirty sometimes. Everyone notices it.”

The Swiss stopped walking and was quiet for a long moment, long enough to make Magnus start to worry. But then he spoke:

“I had a little crush on him when I was younger. How could you not? It was Roger, and he was starting to do amazing things. But we didn’t really become close ’til we went to Beijing.”

Magnus’s voice was soft. “What happened?”

“We bonded the whole time we were there. And day after day, we were flirting more and more. Finally, after we beat your Swedish friends, we were drinking in my room. And I told him I had a crush on him, and I started kissing him. We kissed and he let me give him a blowjob, but nothing else happened. Kind of like you with your friend when you were young.

“Anyway, after, when we were back in Switzerland, he told me he was fond of me but nothing else was going to happen, he loved Mirka too much. I cried, he cried, we hugged. It took me awhile to get over that. But we’re fine now. And I know he’s still fond of me, but nothing ever happened since then.”

“Does Mirka know?”

Stan sighed. “We promised not to say anything to anyone but he told me soon after that he couldn't help it and told her. He tells her everything, of course. He said she was mad at him and wouldn’t speak to him for awhile, but after he broke down crying in Australia she got over it. Roger crying is her weak spot.”

It was Magnus’s turn to grin. “I can see why she doesn’t like you.”

Stan yelled a loud “HEY” and shoved him playfully. They resumed walking.

After a few quiet moments, lost in thought, Stan said, “Well? What do you think?”

Magnus hesitated, his breath catching as an old memory rose up from the depths of his mind, unwanted and unbidden. “Last year in Indian Wells, when you were getting close to Roger in practice, on purpose, in front of me. Well, it worked. I was so jealous, so jealous. It was so intense I almost threw up, right there, on the court.” Suddenly his throat felt thick, and he looked up at the sky, at the darkest region of blue, blinking away the sudden sting in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I did that to you. But I was angry.” Stan’s voice sounded small and sad. He grabbed Magnus’s hand in apology and held it as they walked, growing bold in the darkness and in the absence of strangers.

“Well you had a right to be. I was a piece of shit for walking out on you like that in Melbourne. But I didn’t know what to do. After what happened in Australia I didn’t know what to say, what to think, what to feel about anything.” He stopped, turning to Stan, grabbing the man by his shoulders as a few tears ran down his cheeks.

“When we were here last year, and you left after Wimbledon, I felt so alone, so fucking alone. But I couldn’t even bring myself to call you, to say sorry, to tell you I loved you. I was so scared, afraid of what I was feeling.

“I’m so sorry I shut you out for so long. And for making you wait so long. You didn't have to give me time to catch up to you, but I’m happy you did. Thank you.”

Stan's own eyes were bright with damp, but he wiped Magnus’s face with his hands and looked down, suddenly shy. He put his arms around the taller man’s waist. “For a long time I was wondering if it was worth it,” he mumbled.

Magnus kissed him impulsively, on the dark, deserted street, his lips lingering lovingly over Stan’s. “And?” He was almost afraid to breathe.

Stan looked up, fire surging in his eyes. “How can you even ask that? Of course you were worth it.” He kissed Magnus back, once, twice, and pulled away, grinning. “But if you put me through that again this is over.”

“Never, never,” Magnus muttered. He kissed Stan hard, deeply, with tongue, until Stan was humming with desire. Reluctantly he broke the kiss off and looked at his man, smiling at the wide, trusting eyes, the wet lips.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

They continued onward, walking so close to each other that their shoulders kept rubbing together, so close that they started leaning into each other playfully as they walked. They slowed their pace as their house came into view, almost as if they were trying to prolong this quiet moment, this small piece of the eternal.

But eventually there they were in front of their door, and Magnus unlocked it and stepped inside, Stan following him eagerly, and they were in each other’s arms and kissing passionately before the door was even done closing.

Above the house the waxing moon poured its watery light down onto the neighborhood, and the first stars began to appear, blooming slowly in the summer darkness.


End file.
